


invisible string

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Love Letters, Missandei is the bestest best friend you could have, Second Chances, but also not really, exceptionally light angst, minor Jon Snow/ygritte (past), sort of inspired by sleepless in seattle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: While cleaning house, Daenerys finds a letter from former boyfriend Jon Snow in her 'breakup box', a letter that if she'd read it, would have changed their lives completely. She sets about figuring out whether she wants to find him because she wants to right the past or if she truly is still in love with him...and what she finds is quite a surprise.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 71
Kudos: 289





	invisible string

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Riry_7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riry_7/gifts).



> Hello it's me! The one who said she was going on a break? Yeah still doing that, but I had to get this down. When the plot bunny demands, I must obey. Got this idea while cleaning MY house, but definitely did not find anything like this. 
> 
> Also, I am super picky about second-chance romance. I have noticed a trend of making a character "work for it" to get back into the romance, which I think is BS. My preference, obviously, but it cheapens it in the end I think. I also despise throwing in other people to make someone jealous, have to "work more for it", etc. The payoff is never truly there in the end. 
> 
> So here's my little ditty. Enjoy :D
> 
> Gifted to my one true Tumblr love @youwerenevermine because you are always so sweet and there listening to me! Also your moodboards are just...[heart emojis x a million]. I'm definitely starting that dark academia one for you!

_Time, mystical time_  
_Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine_  
_Were there clues I didn't see?_  
_And isn't it just so pretty to think_  
_All along there was some_  
_Invisible string_  
_Tying you to me?_

_-_ Taylor Swift, _"_ **invisible string"**

* * *

“Well boys, aside from the dust bunnies that I have long ago accepted will never leave this house no matter how many times I vacuum, I think we have done an excellent job today.” Dany stood up slowly from the crouched position she’d been locked into for the past couple of hours on the floor of her closet, feeling her bones creak and joints pop from the awkward position. She rolled her head slowly on her neck, groaning in relief when the muscles stretched, rolling her shoulders at the same time. She dropped her head backwards, eyes closed, her hair falling from its topknot.

It was a rather rainy day in King’s Landing, and she didn’t have any plans. Not that that was a surprise; she had been a little reclusive lately, crediting her anti-social behavior to a series of bad weeks at work, some recent arguments with her coworkers, a breakup, and a few bad experiences in some of her favored online fan forums. The idiocy and hypocrisy of some people, just because they hid behind a computer screen, really irritated her. She also took things too personally, even if the hobby had originally started as a bit of a social experiment for work.

She tried not to think about it, glancing sideways to her cats, who were enjoying the house-cleaning—purge might have been a more appropriate term—batting around clumps of their hair she’d swept from out of the corners of the closets and rooms, random clothing tags, some old jewelry, and investigating the piles of shoes and clothes she’d accumulated for donation.

Rainy days were good for cleaning, she decided, noting that it hadn’t let up at all during the house she’d spent cooped up. It washed away the dirt and grime, replaced with a fresh clean feeling. That’s what she would focus on instead of her hurt feelings, frustrations with work, and general malaise. Plus she could bury Daario where he needed to be—in the past. She had packed up the remaining items belonging to him in a bag and intended to drop it in a donation bin, not bothering to call him to pick them up or discover a new address to send them to. She was not going to waste that postage on the dick.

Drogon, the biggest of her three cats, meowed loudly when she removed an old sock from his claws. Rhaegal and Viserion were contently chewing on their own hair, spitting it out when she walked by and batting the pom-poms hanging from her thick wool socks, weaving in and out of her feet. “Come on guys knock it off,” she chastised. She reached up to tie her hair back tighter, scooping up sticky, sweaty tendrils. She chuckled. “I guess I don’t have to work out today. Wonder how many calories this burned, huh?”

They chattered away together, following her up and down the stairs, carefully tracking after her when she had boxes and bags in her hands. She caught sight of herself in a hall mirror, groaning at the look she presented. Straggly hair, a bandana tying most of it back, dust streaked on her cheeks and white tank, and baggy overalls with the cuffs rolled up over her thick socks. It was certainly a look.

If the Crownlands Times fashion editor could see her. Ellaria Sand would have lost her damn mind, Dany figured, grateful at least that Ellaria generally pretended no one existed outside of the newspapers except for her ‘paramour’ Oberyn Martell, the sex and relationship guru who had an entire page devoted to his ramblings.

_Meanwhile I’m scrounging for stories_ , Dany thought with a slight grumble, trudging up the stairs again in her narrow terrace house off the Street of Steel—an ‘up and coming’ neighborhood according to her realtor who she was fairly certain was a witch. Melisandre had been more interested in whether or not Dany could get her additional advertising space in the paper than helping her find a house. ‘Up and coming’, she’d learned, meant ‘drug den adjacent.’ The amount of Shade of the Evening stoners she’d seen stumbling around had proven that.

She reached the third floor where she’d piled some boxes from the guest bedroom she hadn’t even bothered opening when she moved in a year ago. They were marked ‘Clothes- College’ on one box and ‘Drama Class Costumes’ on another, in her best friend Missandei’s neat handwriting. “Drama class,” she laughed, glancing at the boys, who were lined up in a row on the top step, watching with flicking tails and wide eyes. One set of yellow, green, and blue, all focused on her intently. She shrugged, lifting the box off the stack. “Can’t hurt to see some of the old stuff.”

Back at Queen Alysanne’s University, she’d been intent on becoming an actress, but had been bitten instead by the writing bug, realizing she was far better dissecting and writing the scripts than she was performing them. She’d still minored in it, but her love for drama had died off after she’d worked her way to the investigative features staff on the Crownlands Times. A highly coveted and intense job, the pinnacle in her chosen career field, and it didn’t afford her a lot of time to be traipsing about community theater, even for fun.

She knelt on the floor, her knees already aching from spending so much time crawling around under the beds, along the floorboards, and hunched over dresser drawers and boxes packing everything up. The box was covered in dust, clouds of it rising up when she blew lightly across the top, coughing softly as some caught in the back of her throat. Her hand spread over the top of it, curious at what lay underneath. She pried apart the flaps, the box worn and creaking, slightly motheaten.

It made her a little sad; she hadn’t been up in the guest bedroom closet since she’d stowed away these boxes a year ago. Dany didn’t have many visitors, not the kind that spent the night for long. Her best friend in the world lived thousands of miles away in Braavos, her two older brothers were living in Dorne and Pentos, respectively. Her pseudo-grandfather Barristan had moved away to Meereen for some sunshine and warmth after her mother died a few years ago.

Dany sighed, shrugging at Drogon, who meowed softly, sensing her distress. “It’s alright,” she said, pushing the box open. “Things will be different.” She glanced into the box and chuckled at some of the costumes. A few poofy dresses, a crimson robe she remembered from when she had to play a Priestess of Rholl’r, and a few props—wigs and a couple of fake daggers. “Maybe Rhaenys and Egg want these, huh?” She’d send them to Rhaegar. His kids were young, they could play dress up with them.

As she skated her fingers along the bottom of the box, in case there was anything else, she hit something hard under one of the robes. Her brow furrowed; it was another box. _Weird_ , although it might have explained why the box felt heavier than it should have been with just a few costumes folded in it. She dug her other hand in, pulling the box free.

The hidden box was an old, faded box that hockey skates had once been in. Her heart stilled against her ribs. There was only one person in her life who had ever played hockey, let alone bought his own skates. _No_ , she thought, her heart now beginning to quicken, until it was a fluttering hummingbird in her chest. She fell down onto her arse, legs splayed, the box dropping from her hands to the floor with a soft ‘thud.’

Rhaegal was the first to investigate; of course he was the first to start sniffing. It was entirely possible he could smell the remaining scent on the first object she tugged free—a Winterfell Wolves jersey that she’d taken to wearing as a nightdress for almost five years. She lifted it to her nose, the cotton worn and soft, her eyes closing with the inhale of— _him_.

It had to have faded over the years—eight to be specific—except she swore she still caught the scent. Cinnamon, spearmint, and maybe a hint of cigarette ashes. _Snow_. It smelled like snow. Rhaegal meowed, pawing eagerly at the jersey. She set it down, watching as he curled up inside of it, flicking his calico tail and slowly closing his green eyes in happy kitty pleasure. “You always loved him the most,” she whispered, stroking his back.

Drogon and Viserion were now poking about inside the box. She removed some CDs. One was her brother Rhaegar’s first album, another was of a hard rock Dothraki band. She chuckled at Drogon, turning it towards him, eyebrow quirking and tapping the shirtless man on the cover screaming, his eyes heavily lined and heavy braid over his bare shoulder. “I named you after him. I had such a crush.”

Drogon yowled, offended. “You’re far superior,” she assured him. She tugged out some books. A glass from a silly stand up on the Wall. It claimed, ‘Spit off the Top!’ with a cartoon of someone leaning over the massive ice structure preparing to spit. She snorted, putting it down on top of the CD. A few more t-shirts faded and threadbare. An old journalism textbook. A couple cat toys, which Viserion happily ran off with in his mouth.

It was a sad state of the end of a relationship. After everything had been split up and the decision made, the sweep of the apartment she had spent countless hours in, dumped into a box and set on her doorstep. She’d come home after an interview of all things; positive she’d bombed it because she’d spent the previous evening crying into her pillow and drinking bottles of wine instead of preparing. She’d gotten the job—a stringer on a political campaign for a well-known news blog.

Except she’d lost the love of her life in the process.

They were heading there. College boyfriends only lasted forever to lucky people and in the movies. Daenerys had never considered herself lucky and she didn’t live in a movie. She leaned against the wall, her feet stretching out in front of her. She tugged the jersey out from under Rhaegal and draped it over her knees. The folds fell perfectly, the snarling white wolf on the front missing some threads along the bottom of the sewn-on decal.

Her thumb ran along the hem. Memories drowned her, suffocating her. She could see his face, heartbroken, angry, gray eyes she always considered soft and gentle, instead chips of ice. He was furious and so was she. Fight after fight, bottling up, day after day, until they finally looked at each other at dinner and realized…they were on different tracks. They were going different directions but were forcing each other to try to go with the other. It was unfair. The fighting would get worse. They’d become resentful. Then they’d turn into her parents, if they kept it up.

“It was for the best,” she whispered. She had been heartbroken. It was his idea; he was the first to say it. That they should _break up_. First it had been _take a break_ , but she knew what that meant. They hadn’t spoken for a few days. And then she’d gone to his apartment. They’d fought, cried, fucked. It hadn’t felt good. It was over.

She sent the box with his cousin Arya, who had been a friend of hers. His box had been on her doorstep. Maybe Arya dropped it off for him or maybe he’d done it, she hadn’t asked. Arya tried to stay out of things. She’d last spoken to her a couple years ago. They’d run into each other at the courthouse—Dany had been there to get some documents on a story she was working on while Arya had been there to report on a trial for her podcast series she’d begun. They hadn’t spoken about _him_. They exchanged numbers, but she hadn’t called her. Arya hadn’t either. That’s how things went after time.

The day had been about cleaning and starting fresh. “Starting over,” she mumbled, getting up and dumping the jersey into the box. She gathered up the other items, dropping them in. She’d get rid of it all. It would only make her sad. She grabbed one of the books—a mystery novel she hadn’t remembered even finishing—tossing it in, when an envelope fell from between the pages.

It slid on the hardwood floor, Drogon pouncing and clawing at the paper. “Gimme that,” she said, taking it from him. He jumped up and tried to bite the corner. She swatted him away, turning over the brittle, aged yellow paper. Scrawled on the front, in black ink, with familiar loops and curves, was her name.

_Dany_

“Oh gods,” she whispered. Her heart stopped again, plummeting into her stomach like a heavy rock thrown into a pond. It was his handwriting. He wrote her a letter. She felt along the edges of the envelope. Yes, it was certainly a letter, a simple folded piece of paper inside.

He wrote her a letter and he put it in a book and put that book in the box he’d left on her doorstep. A box she hadn’t opened, she’d thrown into another box to hide from view, and almost a decade later, finally discovered.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no._

What could it say? What could he have had to say to her? It was probably nothing. Probably just saying ‘hey here’s your stuff, good riddance.’

_But what if it wasn’t?_

Dany forgot the box, the items she wanted to take downstairs, and stumbled off. She went straight to her kitchen and rummaged in the fridge, removing a bottle of wine and popping the cork. She swigged from it, gasping at the dry white burning her throat, before she fumbled for a glass in the sink and dumped some in, needing to hold the glass, something comfortable and reassuring.

She glanced at the envelope, on the counter beside her hand. The cats were staring at her again. “I can’t open that,” she said. _I won’t open it._

The letter might as well have been screaming at her.

Dany gulped the wine, setting the glass down hard, clinking loud on her granite countertop. She snatched the letter and opened her freezer, shoving it inside between a bag of green beans and a carton of rocky road. She would forget it. She spun on her heel, wine bottle in one hand and glass in the other, storming to the living room and sank down on her couch, placing both on the coffee table in front of her.

She picked up her cell phone and instantly texted Missandei. _S.O.S._

A moment later the phone rang, Missandei breathless. “What’s wrong? Do we need to bury a body, or should I help you kill someone?”

Dany finished off the glass and shakily poured more wine, rattling out: “I found a letter from Jon in my break-up box after eight years and it’s now in my freezer and I don’t know if I should open it up.”

A thousand miles away, the other end of the phone went silent. After a moment, Missandei chuckled softly. “Oh I was wondering when Jon Snow would come back into your life.”

“He’s not!”

“Hmm, we’ll see. Let me get a glass of wine. Do you have one?”

“I’m on my second glass.”

“Let me catch up.”

* * *

One whole week.

She lasted one week.

Missandei told her to think about it before she opened the letter. Pro and con lists, write it out, visualization, all those things. Sleep on it, dream about it, and whatever she did, weather she destroyed the letter because it had been eight bloody years since her heart had broken and mended, eight years since she said goodbye to him, and eight years of moving on. Whether that meant her few failed relationships and the hundreds—gods had it been that many?—of shitty first dates that never went beyond coffee or dinner, it was eight years of it.

Jon had moved on, Missandei had reminded her, most likely of course unless she'd been stalking him online or something. _" And if you were stalking him online then you should have told me, and we are no longer best friends if you were doing that without me."_ Dany hadn't even looked him up once in eight years. Not even when she ran into Arya. Not for purposes of trying to contact him.

It wasn't hard to hear about him, not really. He was a successful author. He had started non-fiction then went fiction and people loved him. She'd even delved briefly into the fandoms to see what people were thinking and saying of him. After discovering fanfiction that was between reader and Jon, she'd clicked out immediately, unable to search further. She stuck mostly to her silly Dragon Queen and Ice King couple she loved, from the book series turned television show by Aegon Summer, the unknown anonymous author.

She hadn't read his books. She didn't want to acknowledge his existence because it hurt too much to say goodbye to him. It was better, in the long run.

If she read the letter now, she could be even more heartbroken. Whatever he might have to say after the fact. Seven hells, he might be telling her to fuck off in the letter.

"I can't get mad," she recited to herself. She'd had a good portion of wine that Friday night, the letter defrosting on the wooden tray across her porcelain clawfoot tub, bubbles surrounding her. Drogon was fishing out a froth of bubbles, Rhaegal was inspecting her loofa on the edge of the shower across her bathroom, and Viserion was the only one paying her attention, nodding solemnly, blue eyes wide and expectant.

She sipped her wine, head knocking against the bath pillow behind her. She closed her eyes. _It says nothing. It says nothing._ She downed the rest of her wine—a lovely vintage from the Reach—and sloshed bubbles, leaning over to grab the bottle off the floor, topping her glass again. The water lapped at the porcelain rim, chilling against her flushed, damp skin. She sighed and shoved the wine glass up to her temple. "It could say something," she wondered. She picked it up gingerly, water spreading out from the corner. She dropped it onto the tray and groaned. "Fuck! Why? Why did he have to do this?"

Drogon yowled. She snorted. "And why did I have to go cleaning? I should have just thrown out that box!"

Propelled by the wine, swirling acidly in her stomach, and buzzing in her head, she decided. She had to do it. She would never rest unless she knew one way or another. She just couldn't get mad.

Just don't get mad.

She tore into it and grabbed the letter, falling back. The wine glass in one hand, Arbor Gold splashing onto her hand, she pulled the single piece of paper apart. Faded, crinkling from its time cramped in the envelope, the black ink stared up, like it was freshly written. _Jon_ , she thought, eyes closing, the black untidy scrawl bringing her back. Little notes on napkins shoved into her lunch, post-its left with his whereabouts, shopping lists, and random thoughts of characters and locations for books he dreamed of writing.

The pain seized her heart. It ached. It was going to hurt. A Band-Aid torn off, a few paper cuts, that's all this was. It would go away. She opened her eyes, tears already pricking the edges, and she held the wine to her temple, bent forward, reading the words he'd written eight years ago and perhaps thought she'd ignored.

> _Dany,_
> 
>   
>  _What are we doing? Why are we doing this? Life sucks. Life isn't easy. We both know that. I don't know why we think this should be any different. We can do this, right? Am I crazy? Don't answer that. Think about it. I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone—because you're the only one. The only one I have ever loved. It hurts. It hurts not having you here with me and I miss you. Fuck maybe I'm drunk I don't know. We can make this work I just know that I don't want to live without you. Think about it. One way or the other._
> 
>   
>  _Jon_

Dany took one breath, dropped the letter onto the tray so it didn't get ruined, and dunked her head straight under the water, screaming in frustration, pain, and fear. She erupted up, sputtering through strands falling over her face, soap in her eyes, and coughing as water had gone up her nose, but she cried regardless.

Because he was so right. She missed that letter. She missed the chance.

_You can't get mad_ , Missy told her, no matter what it says.

Didn't mean she couldn't get upset. She sobbed, head falling into her hands, and soon realized she was laughing. Laughing, because she felt the exact same as him at the time and wasn't the world just a fucked up horrible place that she hadn't found this letter when he dropped off the box? She'd been so hurt she hadn't wanted to look at a damn thing to do with him and buried it away for eight years.

And eight years later, just the mere mention of him now...

The cats eyed her suspiciously. They knew what she was going to do.

Dany wiped at her eyes, sniffling. "I have to find him, right?" she whispered.

They cocked their heads in unison. They weren't sure. Dany was.

She had to at least...try.

* * *

My how times have changed.

Four weeks ago she was more concerned about getting a decent amount of sleep in between insane deadlines, research, interviews, and chasing stories. Three weeks ago she was fine with taking some time to herself to clean her house top to bottom to deal with her anxiety and emotions. Three weeks ago she had not thought once about Jon Fucking Snow, ex-boyfriend, love of her life, and the only man she had ever thought she could be with for the rest of her bloody life.

Not in the romantic sense at least. He was an ex. He was someone she shared an important piece of her life with. He was the past. And you couldn't look back on the past, because if you did, you would be lost. A lesson she took very seriously and had never let her down.

And in spite of all that she was currently driving in a very upscale neighborhood outside of Winterfell, in the North, a five-hour flight from King's Landing, pretending to be investigating a story on Northern separatists for her editor—to get Tyrion to pay for the trip and to convince herself she wasn't mad for doing this—rather than what she was actually doing.

She was casing Jon Snow's house.

That was basically the gist, even if she refused to admit it in so many ways. She was investigating a story about Northern separatists and in doing so she needed to find the contact information for Sansa Stark, who was Jon's cousin and once upon a time ago a pretty young girl with fancies of being a princess, and now a woman who could be seen on alt-right news stations proclaiming that the North needed to be free because they'd been oppressed for so long by the southerners. Whatever turned her into the angry, bitter woman who was now the biggest "Nexit" supporter in the Known World, Dany didn't know, but she would churn out a story for Tyrion regardless.

And you know, she may have casually searched the system for Jon Snow, confirming the phone number she had from Arya—still in her Notes app—was the same. Maybe she had stared at it, alternating between reading the letter and hovering her finger over his name in her phone and back and forth for the last two weeks.

Dany leaned back in her rental car; her hand draped over the steering wheel. "I'm mad," she repeated. "This is madness."

"You're not mad," Missandei said.

"But I am. Completely and totally mad."

Missandei crunched on some crisps in the background. "You're not mad."

"But I must be."

"You're in love."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Could be debated."

"Missandei you are absolutely no help."

She laughed. "I'm your best friend, I'm here to support you no matter what you do. Far be it from me to tell you exactly what I think you should do, which if you must know, is exactly what you're doing. I told you not to get upset at whatever the letter said, and you didn't listen, you got upset and depressed, and now you are taking the dragon by the spines and flying off to new adventures."

Yes, that was what she was doing, maybe, Dany thought. She had bene upset. She'd cried it out, furious that she couldn't go back in time and change things. Then she worked out what she wanted to do. She wanted to see Jon. She wanted to know if he felt the same. She wanted to see if this fire inside of her burning for him was just nostalgia or if it was real. The same love she'd felt and thought extinguished, that she'd buried deep inside and completely forgotten, because how else would she heal?

She shook her head, eyes wide. "Madness. Targaryen bloody madness, it's finally caught up with me . I knew it. Next thing you know I'll be lighting things on fire and claiming Aegon told me to do it like my father."

"You are _not_ your father and I don't want to hear you joke about it." This time there was no warmth from Missandei. She was dead serious. Dany nodded, sighing hard. It spurred her best friend forward. "Now, I have always known you were in love with Jon Snow but kept it to myself, as I told you over and over again these last couple weeks because I love you and I support you, but you both were overstressed, exhausted, and too stupid and stubborn to acknowledge your mistakes in how you both handled things. Times have changed, the only thing you can do other than wallow about it is see why not?"

"And if he's married or doesn't want me?" she mumbled.

"Then he's married, and he's moved on and you take that as the sign to put him behind you once and for all, burn everything and that's that." Missandei laughed again. "And if he doesn't want you, well he's a bloody fucking fool and doesn't deserve you."

Sounded like a plan. It sounded mad to her still, but she had come this far. Find Jon, show him the letter, if he felt the same about her that she clearly still felt about him, they could go from there. If not, well...

She'd cross that bridge when she came upon it.

Dany turned a corner into the neighborhood, off one of the other streets, finding the terrace houses had turned into freestanding older stone homes, with high walls and gates, plenty of old gnarled trees, and historic facades. It was...cozy. Expensive, but with a warmth that made her think of people living there for generations and passing the place on to their family members. Not at all like where she lived or had grown up.

Jon had always been very settled. He wanted to stay put, while she wanted to roam. Yes, she wanted a family and a home—she hadn't had that growing up, but she wanted to see things before she did that. Jon on the other hand would have been content to return to his hometown and never leave, as it seemed he had. He'd just moved from the 'big house'—more like the castle where his family had lived for generations— into one of these smaller stately homes.

She heard the GPS tell her she had 'arrived', Missandei hearing it too. "Call me when you know more. You can do this."

"Thanks."

"Love you."

"Love you." She disconnected and unbuckled her seatbelt, parked across the street and peering at the house. It had a wall around it, not as high as the others, overgrown with ivy and a kissing gate in the front, a winding walk leading to the front door. The front door was dark navy, matching the shutters. It was gray, stone, and with a roof that was darker gray, old, and a series of chimneys. A shiny silver Land Rover was parked at the end of the long drive, another matching one in black parked about midway, flashing its hazard lights with the back hatch pulled open. There were a few bags tossed inside.

Dany picked up her phone, bringing up his number, and gazed at it again. She'd gone from just calling him out of the blue to actually flying this far and sitting outside of his house. Maybe she'd almost called him, but...she didn't want this over the phone. It felt bigger than a phone call. Even if it was only one-sided. She dragged her thumb across it, sighing again, and sinking deeper into the cheap leather of the tiny, basic car. "I was fine without you," she said out loud. She shook her head, closing her eyes. "Fuck Jon I was _fine_."

That letter told her she was not fine. Not if it could dredge up these feelings and emotions.

She missed him. She missed his smile, his laugh, the way he would barely lift up the corner of his lip when he found something amusing. The little furrow in between his brows he'd get when concentrating. On something as mundane as putting his phone charger into the phone or something as important as working on his thesis. He would run lines with her for her drama classes, one-note and wooden, unable to tap into his emotions as well as she could. He was raised like that, but she brought it out of him. She could get the wolf to come out and play. Just like he could get the dragon roaring.

Dany opened her eyes and gazed back at the house. She took a deep breath. He was home—the car with the back hatch open proved that much. "Let's do this," she muttered, opening the door. She moved to get out and stood, at the same time the front door opened.

And to her horror, a woman exited.

The woman had red hair, tucked behind her ears. She wore an oversized sweater, striped shirt, pants that barely hit her ankles, and a knit beanie. She had a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and was saying something, her hand moving with her words, before pausing on the porch to turn back to the door.

Jon was there.

He leaned against the door frame, arms and ankles crossed, relaxed and casually speaking with the woman. Dany noted instantly that time had been good to him, but she'd known that already from the image on the back of his book jackets. His dark curls were knotted in a bun at the crown of his head, thick black glasses on his nose. A denim shirt untucked and open over a t-shirt with a faded band logo—the Watchmen— with black jeans that appeared painted on. He had bare feet instead of socks and shoes. He kept talking, while rummaging in a pocket on the denim shirt, taking out a vape cartridge and sucking it between his teeth, rubbing idly at his jaw—which still sported a close-cropped beard—listening to the woman.

_It's over._

It was done. He was with someone. They were standing in a manner too friendly for a colleague, neighbor, or friend. The woman rolled her eyes when he said something and laughed, before she leaned in to him, clearly going for his lips and Dany couldn't see any more, not wanting to witness him kissing another woman, not after she'd gotten herself to this point. She turned her head, fumbling with the car door, bumping hard into it and cursing under her breath. As she turned, she dropped her keys, the loud clatter on the pavement emitting a sonic-like boom on the quiet street.

"Seven hells," she muttered, tossing her hair out of her face, hurrying to get back into the car. It was done, she had to get the fuck out of there. It was a stupid idea, a stupid decision, and a stupid plan. It had been _eight years_. Of course he'd moved on. Of course he was with someone, he was Jon Snow! He was a famous author, and he was a good man, and he was not going to be pining after her for eight years.

It was just that bloody letter.

That stupid, stupid, stupid fucking letter.

Dany didn't look back, speeding off down the street, her heart pounding against her ribcage, threatening to break straight through her chest. It took a moment, before she realized she was crying, tears trickling sadly down her face. It was a gamble. A gamble that didn't pay off, that was fine. Good for Jon, he'd found someone to make him happy. hadn't she tried to do that throughout her life? Just be happy?

The drive back to the hotel didn't take long. She parked, marched to the little shop across the street, and got a bottle of the North's best scotch, before marching back into her hotel and to her room, pouring herself a hefty amount into one of the little water glasses left on the bathroom vanity.

A couple glasses in, a healthy buzz dulling her painful beating heart, she collapsed onto the bed, wiping at her eyes, and sent a text to Missandei. _He's with someone. It's over. I'll be home soon._

_I'm so sorry love._

_It's probably for the best._

_Give me a call, I'm just running lines._

Dany fumbled with the phone, trying to blink through scotch to get to Missy's number to call. She punched a button and sat up, leaning her shoulder to the tufted headboard, barely paying attention to the ringing, until a raspy, deep voice spoke, uncertain.

"Hello?"

Her eyes widened, a squeal escaping her constricting throat, and she hurriedly disconnected, panicked. _Fuck!_ She checked the outgoing calls and there it was. No way to hide it, right there at the top, lasting all of three seconds. An outgoing call to one Jon Snow.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she cursed, leaping off the bed, sobered immediately. Her feet tripped across the room, frantically calling Missandei, a hand to her forehead, pacing back and forth. The hotel room had a lovely view of the quaint town, the castle in the distance, but she saw only fog. It rang a couple times, Missandei answering. "Oh my gods you won't believe what I just did."

Missandei snorted. "What did you butt dial Jon?"

"No, I _drunk-dialed him!_ "

"What the fuck I was kidding."

Dany slumped down onto the little couch beside the window, closing her eyes, fingers sending her hair cascading every which way over her head and down her shoulders. She pushed them to her temple, groaning. "What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing, you're confused, that letter threw you for a loop. Get your drink, help me run lines, and then work on your story like you were supposed to do. I'll help." Missandei was nothing but a comfort, bringing her down from her terrified high, her voice soothing, and soon, Dany was no longer burning with embarrassment at accidentally calling Jon. He hadn't called back, so she assumed he was not one of those people who thankfully called to demand identities of accidental dialers.

She breathed a sigh of relief later that night, when she finally crawled into bed, and closed her eyes, vowing to put this behind her and move on. It was all she could do now. The letter meant nothing. It was time to put the past where it belonged. Dump it out with the rest of the things she'd planned to get rid of anyway.

* * *

"Fantastic work on the Nexit piece, Daenerys."

Dany lowered the pen she'd idly been chewing from her lips, glancing over the conference room table to her editor, Tyrion Lannister, who was setting pieces aside. She nodded. "Thanks, when are you running it?"

"I was thinking of pairing it against a guest piece for the Sunday edition," Tyrion drawled, lifting up a mockup from layout, turning it and displaying it for the various editors and heads of the respective departments. He smirked. "I was able to get the North's own Jon Snow to work on an investigative piece revealing the North's shockingly ancient views on bastardy and marriage, which I think will work well with your feature on the Nexit attitudes. I can't wait to hear Sansa Stark targeting our paper in tomorrow's pressers."

She didn't hear much beyond Tyrion saying, 'Jon Snow.' She sat up straighter in her chair, uncrossing her legs to let her heels click loudly on the fancy linoleum in Tyrion's private conference room. "Jon Snow?" she croaked.

"Yes, Jon Snow, it seems," one of the owners of the paper and board member by name only—Cersei Lannister—sneered from her spot at the head of the table. She only ever showed up at the weekly departmental meeting to try to undermine her brother because their father refused to give her final say-so on the paper, when she had all the fashion magazines in their publishing empire. She glared. "He's a fiction writer, how is this not fiction?"

"Because he started as a reporter and because I trust him." Tyrion ignored his sister's snorting, lifting his shrewd gaze up and over to survey her. He frowned. "Is there a problem Daenerys?"

She shook her head quickly, squeaking. "No problem, no problem at all."

It had been two weeks since she returned from the North. She'd written her story, dug in a little deeper, and now that had paid off. She hadn't thought about Jon, mostly because she tried to keep her mind occupied with work. The breakup box she'd dropped with Missandei—who'd flown in to hang out with her for a few days—at a donation center and gone straight home to wallow one final time. She hadn't known what to do with the letter, which continued to reside in her bag, crushed between the pages of the latest Aegon Summer book she had taken to rereading for comfort.

After going over a few more things, she excused herself before everyone else left, meandering to her little basement office she maintained with her staff writers Grey, Irri, Qhono, and a bright young journalism graduate named Shireen Baratheon she'd poached from an intern pool before anyone could figure out how good she was— Dany wanted to mentor that raw talent. She dropped her things at her desk and plunked into her seat.

Email brought up, she scanned through, and looked up at Grey, who was surveying her with his deep, serious eyes, lips in a firm line. "What?" she asked.

"New case," he said.

They sometimes did major investigative pieces, big ones, kept secret so no one else could scoop them or try to ruin it. She had a couple awards buried at home in the closet from her work on a sex trafficking expose they'd done that had resulted in the dismissal of several high-ranking Westerosi Parliament members and another piece on refugee resettlement that had forced legislation to change how Westeros brought in Essosi refugees. She was proud of that work.

It was what she needed to focus on. Not stupid relationship stuff. "What do we have?" she asked, taking the papers he handed her. She scanned the headlines, frowning. "Free Folk?"

"We got a tip. The treatment of Free Folk by the Wall border patrol." Grey shook his head, scowling. "The coverup the Westerosi military is doing."

Dany's jaw ticked, a muscle tensing there. "Very well. Who is our source?"

"Ygritte Wilde."

"I don't know that name." She wasn't up on Free Folk things. Guess she'd need to do research. She glanced at the workup that Grey handed her, nodding absently, seeing what the woman had reported and verifying that she did have the access to come across such documents and allegations. She frowned. "Why's she coming to us? Don’t' Free Folk handle this stuff on their own?"

"Yes, but she has a child. She does not want to risk the girl's safety."

"Of course." She ran her tongue over her teeth and handed it back to Grey. "Start working on it. You and Shireen." She'd oversee it. Grey nodded smartly and turned, almost militarily and returned to his cube. Dany reached over and rummaged in her bag, to take out her planner, and ended up folding her fingers around her phone. When she was in the office, she kept it on silent. Easier to focus that way. She went to flick the side button down, freezing as the phone began to vibrate in her hand.

_Jon Snow_

The phone slipped onto the desk, banging loudly, startling Shireen across from her. "Are you alright?" she asked, instantly concerned.

Dany squeaked. "Fine!"

She dropped to the floor, grabbed the phone, and answered before she could process just what exactly was happening. It was for the best, truly, that she had nothing in her mind other than getting her coworkers and staff to stop looking like she'd lost her marbles, while also tugging down her skirt and trying not to smack her head upside the bottom of her desk. "Um, hello?" she mumbled, turning away from the curious looks.

"Dany."

It sounded like water flowing across a rocky stream. Snow falling on a cold winter night. Lava bubbling lazily up over the edge of a volcano. Or maybe her writer mind was responding in a manner suggesting she had gotten hit upside the head. Her eyes fluttered shut; he used to say her name like that all the time. When he woke up, still sleepy and grumpy. When he was kissing her, mumbling against her mouth. When he was frustrated, growling it out of clenched teeth.

She returned the name, sighing. "Jon."

“Hi.”

Awkward, she mumbled back, “Hi.”

They sat on the phone in silence. She didn’t know what to say. He called her. Now what? Her throat was dry, a lump in it preventing any words from forming. She darted her tongue out to lick her lips, but they barely pried apart, sealed together from nerves.

He coughed, humming a second and made a sound. “I...I…,” he stammered momentarily, huffing a sigh. "I was wondering..."

_Wait a minute…_ Her eyes narrowed, realization dawning. “How...how did you get my number?" It occurred to her; he had her number. If he had her number and be called her that meant he...she flushed, groaning. "Oh gods."

"Um, you called...called me. A couple weeks ago and...and again last week."

She dropped her mouth. She would admit to the one call, but a second? _Gods what the seven hells have I done?_ "No I didn't!"

"Um, you did." He chuckled, soft, his Northern burr thicker than she had remembered. Then again, he'd been living there for so long now. "I...I don't think you knew. I got a four-minute message and heard you talking...who is Drogon?"

_Rholl'r's flaming balls._ He heard her talking to the cats, gods only knew what she said. She pushed her face into her palm, a groan slipping through her attempts to maintain composure. “My cat,” she mumbled.

“Oh.”

More silence. She shook her head slightly, shaking loose the stilted words, the fear and awkwardness. Tapping into that dragon she brought out when she was hunting a story or squaring off against a difficult interview subject. “Um, well, I…” she inhaled and held the breath, closed her eyes, and propelled forward. “I was in the North…I…I found a letter you sent me. Left me.”

He drew in a sharp breath. She waited, scared, wondering. _Did it even matter?_ He was married after all, or at least in some sort of relationship with that woman she’d seen on his front step. The redhead. He faltered, quiet. “I think we need to talk.”

“Jon it’s…it doesn’t matter,” she began.

“It does.” He was firm. He cleared his throat. “Are you in King’s Landing?”

“Yes.”

“Me too. Can you meet me at the Dragonpit tomorrow? At noon?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately. She would make it work, no matter what. She smiled, tucking her hair back behind her ear nervously, shifting on her feet. “Yes, I’ll see you there.”

“Good…see you there.”

She disconnected before she could cancel, exhaling and slumping hard backwards against the wall. Exhausted, she laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. _Jon Snow._ She didn’t know what this would mean, what it even meant, especially since he was in a relationship. She wouldn’t think about it. She would just…wait. That’s all she could do right now.

“Dany?”

“Yeah?” she exclaimed, standing straight, blinking at Shireen, who had poked her head out of the office, holding a folded piece of paper. She approached, taking the paper handed to her. “What’s this?”

“Ygritte Wilde. She’ll meet with you tomorrow at eleven. By the Dragonpit.”

_Oh good, saved her time, she could work and then lose her shit afterward by seeing Jon_. She nodded. “Thanks Shireen. I’m going to go home, start looking at these files. Make some calls.”

“No problem. I’ll send you the rest of the info on her.”

Dany waited a moment, glancing down at her phone, taking another deep breath. She texted Missandei quickly. _He knew I was there. He’s meeting me tomorrow._

A second later Missandei replied. _What are you going to wear?_

_Cannot even think about that right now, I need to work. I’ll call later._

_Cool. Wear red. It’s your color my Dragon Queen._

Dany laughed, shoving her phone into her jacket pocket and turning to go back into the office, grabbing her things. She had work to do, it would help her focus. After a few minutes, she rolled her eyes, taking out the letter from her other pocket. It had been there this whole time, even these last couple weeks.

_It hurts. It hurts not having you here with me and I miss you._

It was like he’d seen right into her heart and soul, the same she felt about him. She groaned, frustrated, and scrubbed her face. She needed to focus. Jon and she could talk, could reminisce, but that was all. He was with someone, she was not, she would move on. Hadn’t she not even thought about him in all this time? It was that damn letter. This would just close off that portion of her life for good.

* * *

The Dragonpit was swarming with visitors the following morning, not a real surprise, but a curious location to meet up with her. She liked coming in the early morning before most arrived, to survey the ruins where the ancient Targaryens—her ancestors and founders of the city—had kept their dragons. The roof was long gone, and the sides scooped up to the sky, allowing the sunlight to stream down and gleam off the worn rocks. There was an accompanying museum with dragon skulls and bones on display, and Jon had sent her a text that he would be in the center, at one of the glass-encased dragon skull displays-- the one belonging to Vhagar, Visenya's mount.

But first, she had to meet with her new source.

it would help, she figured that morning, her hair in her usual braids, wearing a long black coat over a muted gray dress with her black Doc Martens. She was grateful the weather was rather chilly, entering the Dragonpit proper. It was an odd location, but made sense given the number of visitors. No one would think twice of seeing a Free Folk chatting with someone Southern here. She scanned the outdoor tables, spying her.

Had to be her, she figured. The woman had texted her on the dump phone she used for sources saying she would be there-- _you won’t be able to miss me, I’m kissed by fire_. The Free Folk saying that she had red hair. Dany wasn’t a fan of the redhaired at the moment, a bit childish on her part, but that’s how it was.

She wondered who Jon’s wife was. She hadn’t been able to find anything in her searching on him. Just that he lived in the North and was a writer still. There was only one mention of her, in a press blurb about his shift to fiction writing. "Jon Snow lives in the North with his wife." That was it. The following book had removed the statement, saying he lived in the North and could be found running with his dog Ghost or working on his next novel.

Approaching slowly, she took in Ygritte. She was wearing a heavy navy overcoat, her black pants a little short and cuffed over her ankles, scuffed sneakers that had seen better days, and a green t-shirt. The look was topped with a brown hat, her red hair peeking out at her temples, but otherwise pulled away and hidden. She had freckles across her face and hands, her blue eyes sharp, watching Dany warily as she approached.

"Ms. Wilde?"

"Aye, take a seat." She shifted in place, smirking. "So you really are a Targ."

"I am," she replied, taking out a small notebook and her recorder. She gestured with it. "I assume this is on the record? Hence your call to my office."

Ygritte nodded quickly and shifted again, checking her watch. "Let's make this fast. I'm here for my daughter's school trip and she's with her father right now. He says he can spot me an hour before he has to meet someone."

A strange warming sensation coiled in her belly, her hair standing on end on the back of her neck. Dany was 100-percent certain she had never met a Free Folk before, least of all this woman, but she had the odd feeling she'd seen her before. Or knew her. She frowned briefly, clicking the button. "Let's briefly go over your background before we get started."

After several minutes, Dany was positive she'd seen this woman, in how she lifted her hand to talk, her accent harsh and grating, not the soft burr of most Northerners, but the angry sharp edges on her vowels that was common among those who grew up isolated Beyond the Wall. She was satisfied with this source, listening to Ygritte go into explaining her information, how she came about it. She made a face at one point, twirling her coffee cup around on the saucer, scowling. "I hate Southerners. Hate the ones who call themselves Northern, but I fell in love with one and my daughter is one and I bloody hate what I'm seeing up there. If I can stop it, my daughter won't grow up with that."

Powerful motivator, Dany thought. She swallowed hard, nodding in agreement. "I'll do what I can then."

"Good, I'm sticking my neck on the line. I hate Crows, but..." She made a face, laughing with an eye roll. "My ex is one. Fucking hells I got into it with him. Never wanted to see them again but, well, along came Arry."

"Your daughter?"

"Aye." Ygritte did the thing that many parents did, that Dany wished maybe one day she'd be able to do, and fished out a photo on her phone, turning it around. The little girl on the screen had deep auburn hair, darker than her mother's orange-hued tresses, curlier too. Her eyes were a peculiar color, more like gray. She smiled happily, sitting on a log in the snow before some pine trees, her small arms wrapped around a massive fluffy white dog with red eyes and lolling tongue.

Dany smiled warmly. "She's really cute."

"She's a pissant, too much of her father in her." Ygritte shoved her phone away and checked her watch, matching a face. "Fuck, I gotta' go. You need me, you call me at that number."

She nodded and gathered her things, casually glancing back at Ygritte, who was rummaging in her bag, taking out a lanyard with 'Silverwing School' on it. SHe made a show of putting her things away and frowned, casually asking. "Have we met before? I feel like I have seen you someplace."

"Not that I know, I think I'd remember a Targ." Ygritte's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Although..." She thought a second, clearly scanning her like she had the same feeling. She pointed at her. "Maybe I did see someone once with silver hair but...was far away. Not sure." She shrugged. "Whatever."

They said goodbye, Dany promising to remain in contact. She needed to verify Ygritte's information and working through the interview had helped calm her nerves. She hadn't had anything to eat or drink, preferring to focus on work, but now she thought she could use something. She looked at her watch, this time noting that she was running late.

To meet Jon.

_Here we go_ , she thought, exhaling hard, her hand pressed to her belly. She was glad to get into work but now the nerves were returning. It would be just a hello, a chat, and that would be it. He was married, he was with someone else, and that was just how it was. It was like Missandei told her before she even saw that letter. Hadn't she just lived her life without a thought to Jon Snow since they broke up? Yes, yes she had. She'd moved on. So had he.

The only reason all these feelings were returning was that letter. It reminded her she did love him, they did break up too fast, and she was not truly over it. She would have to be though. She would put the past behind her for good this time. She shifted her bag on her shoulder, scanning across the crowds of tourists and school groups, and she saw him.

Right in the center of the pit, like he said, shifting on his boots, arms over his chest. He had a messenger bag slung crosswise over his chest, hitting at his hip, and he was looking the opposite direction from her, to a group of kids who were all wearing gray shirts and lanyards with ‘The Silverwing School’ stamped on them. That was what Ygritte's lanyard had said. She assumed that was her daughter's school then. “A true Northern school,” she mumbled, as the school was named after Queen Alysanne’s dragon Silverwing. They loved her there, the only Targaryen in history who had the absolute devotion of the prickliest province.

She approached him slowly and caught his attention with a slight wave, his gray eyes landing on her. He smiled, long and slow, his white teeth flashing against his dark beard. It was shy, not quite meeting his eyes and he ducked his head in his nervous manner, shoving his hands into his pockets now. He stepped to her, removing his hands and reaching to her—a bit stiff, awkward—speaking softly. “Dany.”

Hearing her name again, a sigh on his lips, she melted, grinning in spite of herself and walked into his arms, reaching to wrap hers around his neck, taking a quick inhale of his loose raven curls. _Cinnamon, spearmint, and the faintest hint of smoke_ , just like she remembered, like she dreamed. “Jon,” she sighed back. He was warm, hard, and it was like no time had passed.

_Like coming home._

He pulled back first, glancing again to the group. “Sorry,” he apologized, gesturing to them. “I…I’m in King’s Landing for some things but…but my daughter’s school came down for a trip. I wasn’t meant to chaperone this morning.” He shrugged again, sheepish. “Got a last-minute call. I thought we could have some more time but my…”

“Say no more,” she interrupted, imagining that he was about to say something about his wife. She forced her smile to stay placid. “You have a child?” Her heart ached. _He has a child. Gods, he’s a father…that’s…_ She whispered, forcing down the sick feeling that he had well and truly moved on. Did she want him miserable? Of course not. “That’s wonderful.”

He eagerly nodded. “Yes, a daughter. She’s six. Her name is Aryanna, after my mother and well, you know Arya.”

“Oh that’s beautiful.” _If we had kids, we were going to name our daughter Lyanna._ They’d only talked about it once. Drunkenly on the roof of their apartment building, staring at the stars, talking about the future that would never come to pass.

“She’s something else.” He pointed to her, a little girl at the front of the class, listening attentively to the teacher, dark red hair in a tight braid down her back. “That’s her.”

_Red hair..._ She frowned, a picture forming in her mind's eye. Red hair. Silverwing School...it was right there in front of her, clearing up, still fuzzy on the edges. Something was keeping her from truly seeing it. Why did this feel so strange? “That’s truly wonderful Jon, I…” Dany took a deep breath, about to speak, when out of the corner of her eye she saw someone walking towards them, a woman with red hair.

Ygritte.

It all came together. The picture was clear, before smacking her right across the face. "Oh fuck," she whispered, stepping backwards. Jon frowned at her, concerned. The same woman from the North. His wife, girlfriend, someone. Ygritte, her source, the mother of his daughter. The Crow she'd fallen in love with...Jon Snow.

_Oh I don't think I can do this._ She stiffened and said nothing, mouth shut, when the woman stopped at his side.

“Crow,” Ygritte greeted. She scowled at him, blue eyes flashing now, paying Dany no attention beyond a quick, curious look. “You don’t need to be here anymore. You can go, I’ll be with Arry.”

“I’m already here.”

“Well it’s fine, I'm here.” The woman was speaking to him rather rudely for being his wife, Dany thought, but stayed silent.

Finally Ygritte looked at her and shifted, cocking her head briefly, eyes squinting. "You...what are you doing here?"

Dany moved to answer, to say that she was an old friend of Jon, tell the true, but he took the question instead. “Ygritte,” Jon mumbled, rolling his eyes. He gestured to her. “This is Daenerys Targaryen.”

The woman pointed to her, realization dawning, eyes wide. "I knew it! I knew I'd seen you! you were outside the house a few weeks ago!” She cocked her head, nervous. “Were you spying on me before I even called? How?"

_Fucking hells, Rholl’r had a sense of humor._

She burst out laughing; what else was she going to do? This was honestly one of the funniest things that had happened in her life, all courtesy of a burst of spring cleaning she'd done a month ago. Her giggles died away, leaving her with slumped shoulders and a goofy smile. "Fuck," she cursed, gazing at Jon and Ygritte. She set her lips in a grim line. "I guess the universe really does hate me."

"Why do you say that?" Jon wondered, stepping towards her. He smiled awkwardly. "I...I saw you at my house...a few weeks ago was that..." He glanced to the woman next to him, pointing to her. Now he was confused. "Were you looking for Ygritte? Was that why you called me?"

"You called him?" Ygritte exclaimed. She shook her head quickly . "No, he's not involved in this, I don't want him involved."

"Involved in what?" Jon's eyes went from soft, confused, to hard, icy. His voice dropped, deadly soft. "What are you involved in now Ygritte?"

"None of your business Crow."

"It is my business if it involves Arry!"

"It doesn't!"

A headache started at her temples, spidering to her forehead. Dany pressed her fingers above her eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to piece together this insanity. She lifted her hands up, making a 'time out' sign between the couple. "I think there's just some...some crazy misunderstandings," she laughed-- again she might cry otherwise-- glancing between them both. They keyed in on her and she shrugged, gesturing. "I...Ygritte I had no idea who you were until this morning. I was at your house because I...I was looking for Jon." She fumbled in her pocket, taking out the letter, holding it reverently.

It didn't matter any longer. The ultimate meaning in the letter. It was what it was, after all. She took another breath, held it a second, and exhaled through slightly pursed lips, along with her fear. "I found a letter from Jon in my things, from eight years ago. We used to date in university, I wanted...wanted to see him again is all." She was so foolish. The other woman glared at her, brow furrowed to a hard ridge. "I saw you there, I didn't...didn't mean to step into anything. It's entirely a coincidence you happen to have contacted me for a story." She laughed hard, rolling her eyes, tears pricking the corners. "Rholl'r has a funny sense of humor. You're married to my ex-boyfriend and...and I just wanted to see him after finding this letter is all."

The sound both Jon and Ygritte made startled her. From Jon, it was an incredulous, practically ecstatic sound from his chest. On Ygritte, it was like a cackle in the back of her throat.

Ygritte spoke first, jerking her thumb to Jon. "You think I'm married to him? Fuck no!"

"We've been divorced for four and a half years," Jon said at the same time, still laughing. He smiled wide. "She was at my house to pick up Arry-- our daughter."

_What?_

The shock of everything hadn't quite settled with her, seeing him again, then her source on the paper, and now all of this? Her brain was short-circuiting, eyes darting between the two people, both now smirking, and then to the little girl who was now running right at them-- to add more shit on top of this shit sundae the universe was serving her.

"Mum! Daddy! Loooook I got a dragon tooth! I answered right question!" The little girl leaped straight at her father, holding up a black tooth in her fingers, chubby cheeks flushed, and eyes bright. She presented it to her father, still grinning-- Dany noted she was missing a couple front teeth, giving her a slight lisp. "I got question right bout' the three dragons."

The smile on Jon's face only served to make him more handsome. He adored his child, obviously, hearts practically beaming out of his eyes at the little girl. "You did? What are they?"

"Meraxes, Vhager, Balerion!"

"Very good." He turned slightly so she was facing Dany, smiling still, head ducking, kind of shy. "Can you say hello to Daddy's friend? This is MIss Dany."

"Hello Miss Dany," the little girl chirped. Her accent was similar to her father's, vowels soft and round, slight burr on the edges of the consonants. She giggled. "You have silver hair." Her eyes widened. "Are you a Targ...targ...targyen?"

"Targaryen," Jon corrected.

Ygritte rolled her eyes. "Doesn't matter one way or another, lemme see that tooth." She took it from her, nodding approvingly. "Very good. Now you don't need to get one from the gift shop."

"But I want a dragon."

"We'll see."

"That means no," she sighed.

Jon chuckled, setting the girl on the ground, patting her shoulder. "Go on back to your class. Mummy will take over for me, but I'll see you after, alright?"

"Aye, aye."

The interaction left her on the sidelines, watching him as a father. She'd never see him like that, not even with his younger cousins. He loved her so much, this little piece of him walking and talking, waving her dragon tooth. She glanced at Ygritte, the woman only a fraction softer around the little girl than the abrasive personality she'd encountered in the interview. She saw now, in how they stood, apart from each other, feet in opposite directions, only hiding their sneers at each other when their daughter showed up, that they were not behaving how she'd think a married couple would behave around each other.

Frost might as well be coating their interaction, for how 'warm' it was. She clutched the letter tight in her hand, watching Ygritte walk off without a word, holding little Arry's hand and joining the crowd of youngsters making their way from the outdoor pit towards the entrance to the children's portion of the museum.

It left her standing awkwardly next to Jon. She dropped her gaze to the letter, thrusting it towards him, quiet. "I found this in my things. I...I hadn't seen it. I was so upset I just...pushed the box away. I was cleaning and found it. It made me think...think of you and...and want to find you....I thought you were married."

"Because you saw Ygritte at my house?" he concluded, still smiling.

It sounded dumb when he put it like that. She huffed, defensive. "I thought I saw her kissing you...she leaned in..."

"She leaned in to hit me," he explained, raking his fingers through his curls. He smiled wider. "She doesn't like me very much anymore."

"Well I get that now."

Jon led her away from the giant dragon skull, towards some benches in a quieter area of the Dragonpit. He fiddled with a string bracelet on his wrist, with some beads she saw spelled out 'D-A-D-D-Y.' Her heart swelled. He saw her looking at it and ducked his head, whispering. "A Father's Day gift...she made it in Scouts."

"It's lovely." She sat down beside him, thrusting the letter to him again. He took it gingerly. She shifted, sitting on her hands, quiet. "I'm a journalist...that's how I found your address and...and I had your phone number from when I met Arya a couple years ago but I didn't think about calling you...I don't know why I didn't. I guess I just wanted to stay on the path I happened to be on."

He hadn't opened the letter; he wouldn't need to, as he wrote it and knew what it said. He cleared his throat, quiet. "I had your phone number. That's why I knew it was you who called." His gray eyes met her purple ones, warm. "And I was...scared...but...happy."

"I guess that's how I felt when I saw you again," she laughed. She swallowed hard, rolling her eyes, sheepish once more. "Then I saw Ygritte and...thought you were married. Got the seven hells out of there you know?"

He laughed. "Aye...I saw you. You weren't as quick as you thought you were. Silver hair in an obvious rental car? I..." He paused. He leaned closer, whispering. "I hoped it was you."

_I hope I'm not making more of this than it really is_ , Dany thought, gazing into his eyes. At this point she saw the faint lines feathering out from the corners, the tired bags underneath them, and if she was not mistaken, a couple gray hairs barely visible at his temples. He was older, like her, but this was still the eighteen-year old boy who had introduced himself to her on the Queen Alysanne's quad, after his roommate Sam had thrown a rugby ball and almost smacked her in the head while she'd been studying.

She hesitated, unsure what to say. When she opened her mouth, deciding to just tell him how good it was to see him, she blurted out something she guessed had been bothering her. "I was just hoping you didn't think I was a stalker or something."

He laughed. She flushed. "I didn't think that. I just wondered what prompted it and...and now I know." He looked at the letter, turning it over in his hands. His voice dropped. "When you never called me I just assumed you...you read it and moved on. You didn't want to work on things."

"I would have called you," she said. She was certain of it. "If I found this..." She tapped the paper in his hand. "If I'd known...I was so upset Jon. Crying into my pillow and mourning what could have been...you were right. We were impatient and stupid and young and we didn't work thorugh things like we should have if we really wanted it to be real. It was real. All of it."

Reaching into the envelope, Jon pulled out the letter, and unfolded it. He scanned it a moment and chuckled. "I was drunk when I wrote this, but that was because the guys couldn't stand me when I was sober. I was too busy crying."

It was her turn to laugh. She nibbled her bottom lip, realizing something. "You know if I'd found this, you wouldn't have been with Ygritte. You wouldn't have your daughter."

"Very true." Jon placed the letter back in the envelope, handing it to her. He leaned over his knees, fingers laced loosely. He glanced over his shoulder, still smiling. "I would never exchange Arry for anything in the world...but.." He hesitated and lifted his eyebrow. "I won't lie and say I never thought about you ever again. I did. Random times."

She reached into her bag, took out one of his books. He laughed at the sight of it, rolling his eyes, and she chuckled. "I read them. Thought it was kind of cool I used to date a famous author."

"Bet you like the Aegon Summer books a lot more than my silly tales."

"I do, but that's because he writes the Dragon Queen and the Wolf King..." She trailed off. He had a shit-eating grin on his lips. She grabbed the book out of her bag, the weathered copy she'd had for ages, pages almost falling out and binding broken from so many times reading it. "No! Aegon...Jon...Summer..."

"Snow," he mouthed.

Dany smacked his shoulder with the book, she was so frustrated she hadn't seen it. "Oh my gods how did I not..." She flicked to one of her favorite passages, the description of the queen. "Silver hair and violet eyes...Jon!"

"It's you." He smiled, sad again. Voice dropped, no longer jesting. "It's always been you Dany."

She smoothed her hand over the wrinkled cover. It made sense. She took a deep breath, her eyebrow lifting, gazing at him. He didn't blink. "Where does this leave us?" she whispered. They could wax on forever about the 'coulda, shoulda, woulda' of everything. It didn't change things. He had a child because they weren't together. He became a best-selling author, channeling his grief over their breakup into an anonymous book series about the love between them-- if they'd been able to carry on. She'd become who she was now, lonely and sad, hiding away any thought of him because she'd break otherwise.

Now what though?

The fact he wasn't married was an elephant in the room that had been calmly escorted out. A bit shocking, but it was gone. It was just them. He turned the envelope over in his hands. Leaned back against the bench, shoulders slumping, he nodded towards the exit. "Do you fancy a cup of coffee? Or tea? We could get tea...." He ran his thumb over her name on the front of the envelope. Shy again, he whispered. "We could just...find out what's been going on the last eight years."

Dany licked her lips, tossing her braids over her shoulder, looking up at the sky. "We could do that," she answered.

Jon stuttered. "I know I'm not who you...who you might have thought...I'm not married anymore or anything but I mean, I do have an ex-wife and she'll always be around because of my daughter and...and single fatherhood aside I...I can..." He sighed. "She's part of me, so she comes with me. That's how it is."

"I never would have thought otherwise," she whispered. She turned to look at him, grinning wide. "Let's get that cup of coffee Jon."

That was more than she ever anticipated when she'd opened that letter and decided to find him.

The idea that they were actually available at the same time, willing and still felt the same...she couldn't pass it up. It was more than she'd anticipated when she'd gotten out of the car that morning.

He grinned. "Really?"

She nodded, whispering. "Really."

They stood at the same time, the letter still twisting in his fingers. She took it carefully and smoothed it out, placing it between the folds of her book-- his book-- to keep it protected. They said nothing, but smiled nervously, going to get a cup of coffee, where they chatted about anything and everything.

"I wrote the article because I knew you wrote for the Crownlands Times," he admitted, about two hours into their simple cup of coffee. He grinned. "I was hoping to see you. Then I got...well Arya convinced me to call you back. Finally. I knew it was you I saw, when you answered. You were scared."

"Nervous," she corrected, grinning. "Remember? I thought you were married. I thought you were going to call me out on my stalking behavior."

He lifted his finger, correcting her. "Journalist behavior."

"Fair enough."

After another hour they finally got up, when one of the coffee shop employees shot them the millionth dirty look to just leave already. They walked out into the main gathering area of the Dragonpit itself, outside the ticket counters, squaring off nervously once again. Jon ran his hand over his hair, before shoving his hands into his pockets. He lifted his shoulders. "Do you want to maybe...get a drink? Dinner?"

"What about Arry?" she asked.

"Arry will be fine, she's with Ygritte tonight. I'll see her at the hotel. I'll tuck her in." He bit his bottom lip, quiet. "And we can maybe meet for that drink after I do that...she's usually in bed around eight."

Dany took a deep breath, her dragon rising inside of her. "A drink sounds lovely."

"Where should I meet you?"

"How about my place?"

They waited a beat, quiet, the invitation open. It might as well have the same blaring neon lights around it that his letter had to her, when she'd first discovered it. She arched her brow, nervously biting her lip again. At this point, she'd already flown up to find him at his house, she didn't think she could be any more forward than that.

Jon licked his lips, gray eyes darkening. "That sounds like a plan."

"See you at nine?"

"Nine," he confirmed.

Dany giggled, reaching for his phone, which he'd pulled from his pocket. "Let me see this, you'll need my address."

"Oh aye, duh."

They laughed a little longer, after she'd passed over her address, and hugged goodbye. For now, she thought, waving as she walked away. She got to her car and climbed in, closing her eyes and laughing, sheer relief consuming her.

She had a date. With Jon Snow.

That morning she didn't believe she would see him again after today. Now they were going to...well gods, she hadn't thought this through. She yelped, knowing her house was a scattered mess-- despite that bigtime clean-- desperately in need of at least a Hoover. She jammed the ignition button on her car and took off.

That night, when Jon knocked on the door, she pulled it open, leaning against the jam, grinning, gesturing to her shirt and jeans combination. "What do you think?"

It was the Winterfell Wolves jersey from the breakup box.

Jon laughed. He pulled open his black pea coat and revealed the shirt he was wearing. She burst out laughing.

It was from _his_ breakup box.

A Crownlands Dragons jersey, with marker across the front, slightly faded from many washings. _Property of Daenerys Targaryen, you're mine loser_. He'd been forced to wear it after a painful thrashing of the Wolves by the Dragons in the semifinals of the Westeros Cup.

Dany reached for his hand, pulling him into the house. "My favorite, but I like it better...elsewhere."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

And after eight years, she finally kissed Jon Snow again, delighted that it was just like old times, like they had been tied together this entire time, like some kind of invisible string.

**fin.**


End file.
